


Persistent Repeat

by wickedrum



Category: White Collar
Genre: Emetophilia, F/M, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:48:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26272129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedrum/pseuds/wickedrum
Summary: Set: Towards the end of 601, Neal’s reaction to Rachel’s death.
Relationships: Neal Caffrey/Rebecca Lowe, Peter Burke/Neal Caffrey
Kudos: 15





	Persistent Repeat

Notes: Unfortunately I wasn’t in the fandom when White Collar aired. It’s really regrettable because it seems to have been such a whump orientated fandom! Every moment where there was any potential for hurt/comfort has been exploited to the maximum. I’m late to the party so I think there’s barely anything left to explore in this area, but my muse likes to reimagine things and doesn’t let go. 

Disclaimers: When I am writing, it's foremost for my own pleasure. 

Pairings: as canon 

Genre/tags: whump, emetophilia

It wasn’t the first time Neal watched one of his girlfriends being killed, and it wasn’t the first time Peter watched him endure it either. There was no outburst this time, no screaming or the agent having to stop him from rushing into flames like he had reacted when Kate died, and somehow Peter didn’t expect it either. Rachel’s betrayal was of a different level and he knew the Moreau girl was the conman’s greatest love, but it would have still been understandable if he was deeply affected. Peter wanted to follow Neal, make sure he was okay. He did not have to go far however, as the informant stopped by the side of the building, holding onto it. 

“Neal?” Peter signified his presence, in case it was needed, “I’m sorry.”

The conman shook his head against the strong sense of deja-vu, refusing assistance, but that was as far as he got as the rest of the world did not matter right now. Taking in Rachel’s choice was dizzying and his stomach twisted itself into knots too to an extent that made any further thought difficult. He was only vaguely aware of gasping and some helping hands that steadied him. Some part of his subconscious told him to squeeze his palm against his mouth and fight the gag.

“Let’s get him away from this sight and out of sight of everyone too,” Peter told someone and only then did Neal realise that it wasn’t just his mentor’s hands directing him. 

“But I need to puke,” the criminal warned them with flailing hands as they were too close not to get splattered if he did vomit. The hands however, stayed, keeping him steady and upright in the darkness of his tunnel vision. Peter’s was on his chest, stopping him from tipping forward. 

It was by the elevator that vomit gushed out of him and he was steered immediately to the side. Neal whimpered at the strain that the movement put on his cramping belly and retched again, pretty sure he did spoil Peter’s suit along with his own. Hands still kept him upright, neither Jones or Peter let him go. He coughed out whatever was left in his stomach, lightheaded and shaking, the turning of his stomach merciless.

“You alright?” Peter tried as his charge seemed to settle down a bit, “can you..” He gestured with his forehead about moving. 

Neal shook his head again and he was led to the wall and let down carefully to sit with his back against it. Peter joined him there. “Make sure we are given enough privacy,” the agent in charge told his subordinates.

“She’s gone...but I’m fine.” Neal wanted to reassure him, the federal certainly deserved that much after all they’ve been through.

“Oh, because the truth is that decorating the floors with half digested coffee is the exact definition of fine,” Peter countered, tilting him forward just in case when he pressed a hand to his mouth again. 

“I didn’t eat anything recently,” the informant complained over his actions, “I won’t make any more mess, promise, you can relax.” 

“A few deep breaths and then we’ll see if we can get you up,” the man in charge promised, “don’t think about anything else just now. Take slow, deep breaths and just let it relax your body,” he grounded Neal with a hand on his shoulder, “that’s it, keep going. Focus on me, but don’t force it, no stress. You need to let all the feelings and thoughts flow right through you. Are you feeling any better?”

“Yes, I do...” Neal’s answer was still too quiet for Peter’s liking. “It happened so quickly..” The younger man agonised.

“We can talk about that later,” the agent’s expression was tender and compassionate. He gathered himself to stand, held out a hand for Neal and eased him up too, “don’t forget the deep breaths. I already have your puke on me and I certainly don’t want any more.”

“I’m alright I said.”

“Good. Steady?” He waited for Neal’s nod before he let him go, “I think we both need to go home to change clothes.”

“Okay, sure.” The crack in Neal’s voice was hard to miss. He was still very pale.

“You need to continue to take deep breaths.”

“And you seem to be obsessed with that, aren’t you.”

“It has helped you a moment ago, so just try it, please, for me.”

Neal nodded grumpily, closing his eyes and sighing, something that resembled a deep breath, enough to satisfy the agent who turned his attention to Diana to explain, “I’m taking him home. I don’t want to leave him by himself in this state.” 

“I’m able to take care of myself,” Neal felt embarrassed at being mollycoddled and opened his eyes to flash them a reassuring conman smile, “and I don’t want to go home. I don’t need to go home, I have spare clothes. You know how I deal with grief, being busy.”

“Idle hands and all that,” Jones reminded them of the drawbacks of leaving Neal to his own devices again.

“You look ready to pass out,” Peter hesitated before deciding, “in my office then. You lie down on the couch for a bit. Come with me,” he ushered the younger man into the lift concernedly and held up a hand that it would just be the two of them going up on their own. He wanted to give the criminal as much chance for privacy as he could.

“Feels weird,” Neal commented quietly, “I thought she was a mastermind and yet she still ended up like that, her blood all over the pavement,” he stared ahead without seeing while the elevator moved. 

“There may be a lesson in there for another time,” Peter suggested, “but I just want you to rest for now.”

“Without thinking? That will be hard and you know it.”

“I can throw in a few case files at you while you lie down if you think they will help.” Neal nodded, walking out the lift slowly. He was indeed feeling so tired for some reason. For once, he would take Peter’s advice and the comfort offered.

The End.


End file.
